by Kyla Stone
Amelia couldn’t bear any more ugliness. She couldn’t bear the hurt and sorrow and regret weighing her down like chains. Her father was gone. Silas was gone. Her music was gone. Could she bear losing her mother, too?
There was too much hate already in the world. Too much anger and bitterness. It had to end somewhere.
She spoke each word with precision and care. They were fragile as spun glass. “I will forgive you.”
Her mother sucked in her breath.
“But not today.”
“I—I understand. I love you, Amelia. No matter what, at least know that.” After several beats of silence, her mother turned and swept from the terrace, her back straight, her movements fluid and graceful. Only the slightest slump to her shoulders betrayed her grief.
Amelia collapsed into the wrought-iron chair, her legs no longer able to endure her weight.
Amelia didn’t know how long she sat there. The glass walls of the terrace were black with night when the AI chimed, “Micah Rivera is here to see you.”
She blinked. “Let him in. Dim the lights to dusk, please.” The sunlight switched off, replaced with a soft bluish light. Now she could see the stars, sharp as diamonds against the dark expanse of sky.
Micah sat in the chair opposite her, her violin on the table between them. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice contorting. “For Silas, for everything. If I had been faster, aimed better—”
She shook her head.
His eyes behind his glasses held an ocean of sorrow. “I tried to save him.”
She hated to see such pain on his dear, kind face. She folded her own hand over his on top of the table. A part of her wanted to hold on and never let go. “Never take an ounce of the blame for this. Never. This wasn’t you. My father and Sloane killed Silas. No one else. You were a friend to him. You and Willow and Finn—and Jericho. It was making a difference—being loved. He was changing.”
“He was,” Micah choked out. “He really was.”
“I miss him every second of every day,” she whispered.
“I know. He was my friend. He sacrificed himself for us. He died a hero.”
For a while, neither one of them said anything. They just sat, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Butterflies glinted in the shadows, the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle thick in the air.
Micah’s gaze slanted toward the violin resting on the table. “Do you want to play?”
She stared down at her traitorous hands, lying so innocuously in her lap. Saying the words aloud made it real. “My hands. Whenever I try to use them, they shake. I can barely use a fork and dress myself—” She swallowed. “I can’t play.”
“Could it come back, over time? Like memory after a trauma?”
She could still feel the music, could hear it soaring inside her heart, her soul, could imagine every finger position, every note and scale. But her clumsy, quivering hands betrayed her each time she attempted to play.
The tremor wasn’t going away. She knew it in the marrow of her bones, in the deepest part of her. Some things you lose and can never get back.
“I know how much your music means to you,” Micah said gently.
She stared straight ahead. She couldn’t look at him. It hurt too much. If she looked into those dark, depthless eyes, she’d shatter.
Her eyes burned. She’d already wept a thousand tears. How could it be possible that she had more tears to cry?
He cleared his throat and pulled a small object out of his pocket, setting it on the table. “We found this in President Sloane’s pocket.”
Her breath caught in her throat. The thumb drive with her name scrawled on it in her father’s handwriting. “Do you know what it is?”
“Theo checked it out. It’s the formula for your epilepsy medication.”
She picked up the thumb drive and closed her fingers around it. Relief flooded her, followed by a fresh wave of grief. She blinked back the wetness gathering at the corners of her eyes.
She knew what it meant. This was a gift.
Her father had warned her about Sloane and Harper. And now this. In secret, he’d kept the formula she desperately needed to survive.
Her father had saved her again. He’d given her life back. She would live.
Her father. A mass murderer. A monster.
Had her father been capable of love? Had he truly loved her, after all? Did a deformed, twisted love from a deformed, twisted man still count as love? There was no one left to answer those questions.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, but it did.
It always would.
36
Willow
“Why are we hiking again?” Willow asked, huffing ragged breaths, her legs aching. She and Raven were hiking up a steep incline clotted with clay and dirt, mud and snow, twigs and dead leaves. Towering oak, maple, pine, and spruce trees loomed all around them. The late February air was still cold, but within the shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy, the sun was almost warm.
“You’ll see,” Raven said as she maneuvered over a stump on her hoverboard. Shadow bounded somewhere ahead of them.
Willow unbuttoned her jacket and shoved her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I swore never to do this again after the journey from hell. We almost got eaten by a bear, you know.”
Raven smirked. “Almost.”
“The forest is very dangerous,” Willow grumbled.
“Everything is dangerous.”
Willow opened her mouth to protest but found she had nothing to say. Raven was right. She thought of Benjie, her friends, her family, Finn. Maybe most things were dangerous, in their own ways. If it was worth it, you did it anyway.
Two weeks had passed since the battle, since President Sloane had been unmasked as the tyrant and mass murderer she was. Sloane and Cerberus had been thrown into the Sanctuary prison.
Sloane’s trial was scheduled for next month, although Sloane’s filmed confession and the thumb drive evidence Declan had kept of their illicit dealings—the thumb drive she’d been attempting to steal when Amelia confronted her—was proof enough to seal her fate. Cerberus and Sloane could both rot in there forever, as far as Willow was concerned.
Silas’s funeral had been this morning. The pain was still fresh, white-hot and sharp as a scorched blade. It had broken her heart all over again to stand there before that awful hole as the coffin Micah and Gabriel had built was lowered inside it. Silas was in the ground, lying beneath six feet of dirt and rock and clay, while someone like Sloane was still breathing. It was horrifically unfair.
Beneath all his prickly bluster, Silas had been a good person. In the end, he’d freely given his own life to save his friends. He’d died a hero.
He’d deserved to live a hero. He’d deserved more.
Now there was another hollowed space in her heart beside Zia, her mom, and her dad. Silas had been hard as hell to love, but she had. She had loved him like a brother.
There was no one to spar with for hours until they were both sweaty and bloody and spent. No one to exchange hurled insults or smash things with. No one else had understood the shame she carried like he had.
She would never forget him, like she would never forget Zia. Grief was a thing that stayed with you always, like a shadow. Like a hole that could never be filled or mended.
But life had a way of forcing its way in. There was simply too much to do, too many people who needed things from her.
Whether you wanted it or not, the world kept going.
Sanctuary citizens and Patriots alike were hard at work repairing the buildings damaged in the battle, removing the rubble, and burying the dead. Tension still rippled in the air. A few fights had broken out already.
This new society thing would take time. A lot of time, patience, forgiveness, and mercy. Things many people didn’t have a whole lot of practice at these days.
The leadership of the Sanctuary, the New Patriots, and the Settlement had been working to set up a provisional gover
nment. But instead of a single leader, the Sanctuary adopted the nine-member council approach of the Settlement—for now.
“Our founding fathers did an exceptional job creating a functioning government that worked for the people,” Senator López had said. “However, it was corrupted by greed, power, selfishness and hubris—and over time, the government became the monstrosity it was created to protect against. We will be mindful not to repeat the mistakes of our predecessors.”
Finn was offered a seat on the Council after his inspiring speech at the Settlement, along with Senator López, Councilwoman Fabiola Pierre from the Settlement, who had chosen to relocate, Colonel Reid from the New Patriots, and Senator Steelman and General Daugherty.
Amelia had suspected both Senator Steelman and General Daugherty of complicity in the release of the Hydra virus, but there was no evidence of their guilt. Senator Steelman especially seemed shocked and appalled at former President Sloane’s actions against her own citizens. She was an austere woman, but she seemed genuine enough. Hopefully, the Coalition was gone for good this time.
Benjie was back in school. He’d already made twenty new friends, and was busy with homework, soccer, and of course, his magic tricks.
The doctors had examined Finn’s arm. Because of the extensive nerve damage to his right shoulder, even the Sanctuary’s advanced medical tech couldn’t repair it. But Finn seemed okay. “I already have everything I need,” he’d said, looking straight at her. She and Finn were good. Great, even. She’d been so worried that changing their relationship might ruin things, but she felt closer to him than ever. Finn was her person. With him, her little family was complete.
As for work, Willow had accepted a position on one of the scavenging teams. “I need a little excitement now and then,” she’d told Finn. “It’s in my blood.”
There was so much to be done. But there were so many good things, too. Like real food. Real beds with real mattresses. Hot showers. And most importantly, everyone still alive. Finn. Benjie. Micah and Amelia. Even Celeste.
Willow had been prepping one of the armored vehicles for her first scavenging run with Logan, who was limping but alive, and a surprisingly decent guy for a Sanctuary soldier, when Celeste sauntered up to her.
“Glad our escape plan worked out after all,” she’d said with a pouty grin. Her wild mass of crimson curls was tamed into a few dozen braids and tied up in a bun. She looked different—older and more mature, but no less beautiful.
Willow finished stuffing several packets of water filtration tablets into her pack and straightened. “Thank you. We owe you.”
Celeste’s grin widened. “Damn straight you do.” She fisted her hands on her hips. Her nails were painted fuchsia, with tiny dancing flower digital tattoos. But Willow could make out a blackened rind on the underside of her perfect nails.
She cocked her brows. “Dirt under your nails? Really?”
Celeste nibbled on her bottom lip. “It’s not dirt. It’s grease. That girl, Fiona? She’s been working with me and Cleo in the engineering department. Designing bots and stuff. Fixing broken engines. Refurbishing the hydroponics stuff in the greenhouses. I thought I’d hate it. But you know what? I don’t.”
“You and Cleo?” Willow asked, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise. She still held a healthy dose of wary dislike for Cleo, but it appeared the girl was here to stay. Willow’s burn was a scar now. It would remain with her forever, but it no longer hurt. And who was Willow to deny Celeste her happiness? There’d been little of it for long enough. “And sweet, adorable Fiona has nothing to do with it either?”
Celeste twirled a stray curl that had escaped her braids. She grinned slyly, her eyes glinting. “I have nothing to say on that count.”
“You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
Willow and Celeste had smirked at each other, finally friends.
“Hawthorn berries,” Raven said now, pulling Willow back to the present.
Raven pulled a handful of large red berries off a branch as they passed. She grabbed another handful and shoved them in the pocket of her raincoat. “Good for jam. Just don’t eat the seeds.”
“Who are you, really?” Willow said to her back. She remembered how Raven had skinned rabbits all those months ago without batting an eyelash. All the things she knew about tracking and hunting and edible plants.
“My real name is Emiko Nakamura. My dad nicknamed me Raven. I liked to steal shiny pebbles and things when I was little.” She shrugged. “The name stuck.”
“And it was your father who taught you all of this survival stuff?”
“Yes” was the only answer Raven gave her. And then, to Willow’s surprise, she kept going. “He was a peacekeeper in the Democratic Republic of Congo after that Hand of God terrorist group set off those suitcase nukes fifteen years ago. He was flying a chopper full of medical aid to wounded soldiers when he crashed over the Congo Basin. He survived alone in the jungle for ninety-seven days. He always said his biggest regret was that he didn’t make it to one hundred.”
“He sounds like an amazing guy.”
“He kept to himself. He didn’t like people. But he liked teaching me what he knew. He always said it would come in handy. He was right.”
Willow hurried to keep up with her. The hoverboard was fast. “You should stay here. There’s so much you could teach us. And you could have a roof over your head. And indoor plumbing. And, you know, friends.”
Raven had started speaking a little more freely in the last few weeks, but she still wasn’t comfortable around people. She stepped foot inside the Sanctuary only once. And that, bizarrely enough, was to visit the prison and speak to Cerberus.
She shook her head. “I have something to do first. Someone to find. Besides, there’s too much world out here. But I’ll tell people I meet about this place. The good ones.”
“How will you know? If they’re good?”
Raven glanced back over her shoulder. “I just know. Like I knew about you.”
“We wouldn’t have made it to the Settlement without you, you know,” Willow said. “They would’ve kicked us—me, mostly—out on our asses if you weren’t there, if you didn’t do what you did. Without the Settlement’s airjets, Sloane would have killed all of my friends and kept the cure for herself.” Willow spread her arms wide. “All of this is because of you.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe Raven was blushing.
Raven led her to a clearing between a copse of spruce trees. They cleared a steep ridge and crested the mountain.
Willow let out a gasp. It seemed like the whole world was laid out before them. Miles and miles of hills and valleys and mountains. The wind whipped her hair. The sun warmed her face. It was wild and raw and dangerous and stunningly, achingly beautiful.
“This is the world,” Raven said.
Up this high, you couldn’t see the death and destruction. You couldn’t see what was ruined. You only saw what could be. “It’s fantastic.”
“My father once told me the only person I could depend on was myself, that the world would only hurt me.” She paused for a moment, staring out over the mountains, her chin lifted. “I loved him, but he was wrong. You might be able to survive alone. But a person can’t be isolated and truly live. We need each other.”
Willow glanced sideways at Raven. “Is that why you saved me from the infected dogs that day?”
Shadow loped up the steep slope and pressed himself against Raven’s side. He stood tall and majestic, his ears pricked, his snout scenting the air as the breeze ruffled his glossy black fur. Raven placed her hand on the top of his regal head. “Something like that.”
Raven tugged off her pack, bent, and pulled out something white and furred. With great care, she unfolded it and spread it on the ground. It was the wolf pelt, the one Cerberus used to wear. Raven ran her hands over the pelt as the breeze ruffled the snow-white fur.
Shadow nosed it with a low whine in the back of his throat. He threw his gr
eat head back and howled a long, mournful note full of grief and loss.
Willow felt her own heart constrict. “You and Shadow knew this wolf.”
“We did,” Raven said quietly. She pulled herself to her feet and wiped her hands on her pant legs. “She deserves to be free. In death at least, if not in life.”
Willow waited to see if Raven would explain, but she didn’t. There was so much more going on behind Raven’s eyes than she let on. She was a mystery, she and her wolf. Maybe someday, she would trust Willow enough to tell her story.
“You’re leaving now, aren’t you? That’s why you went to Cerberus. To find out about that boy you talked about before.”
An enigmatic expression crossed her face, one Willow couldn’t quite read. Apprehension mixed with anticipation. Longing mingled with loss. “It’s something I need to do.”
Willow tucked her unruly hair behind her ears. She inhaled softly and gazed out over the spectacular vista, letting the warmth of the sun sink into her skin. “Will you come back? To visit us at least?”
“Not to visit.” Raven turned and looked at Willow, a rare smile playing across her lips. “What good is the whole world without someplace to call home?”
37
Gabriel
“What are you doing?” Micah asked from the doorway.
Gabriel looked up from stuffing his meager belongings into a pack in the sparse apartment he’d shared with Micah for the last three weeks. “Micah. You startled me.”
Frowning, Micah shoved his glasses back into place with his thumb. “Why is your bag packed? Why does it look like you’re leaving?”
He swallowed. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation yet, but he had no choice. “Because I am. Because I have to.”
“No, you don’t!” Micah took a step through the doorway into Gabriel’s bedroom. The room was as spare as the rest of the small apartment: white walls, twin bed with a white comforter, gray tile floor, a closet. These housing units were built for the worker bees of the Sanctuary, not the elites. Even in paradise, some things never changed.